Household Affairs
by Spontaneous Muse
Summary: Because Soul and Maka live under the same roof, thus many differing scenarios are bound to happen. Drabble dump; most if not all taking place within the comfort of their own home. SoMa, various genres and pairings. Forever labeled as complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey everyone!_

_I've been saying that I wanted to start a series of oneshots and shorts for So/Ma, based on the theme of the two staying at home. All of these drabbles will not be connected and probably won't feature the usual me-rambling before we launch into things. _

_Almost all of these are taken off of tumblr, after I finish a request. Feel free to request through that platform (url: therewithasmile) or to PM them to me!_

_That being said, this is a drabble dump so there will be a lot of different genres here. Any ones that require trigger warnings will have them respectively. Enjoy!_

_- muse. _

.::[::]::.

[[insert resident of the Blair/Maka/Soul resident] had a feeling zhe wasn't supposed to see that.]

"Maka-nyah, all girls wear them: it's totally natural!" the purple-haired woman insisted, however Maka couldn't help but to feel peeved as her pet-turned-older-sister figure (she didn't even know how to classify Blair anymore) dangled the offending piece of clothing in her face. She didn't get it – the padding, the boobage, why _anyone_ would want such lingerie for themselves.

"There's nothing natural about it," Maka pouted, trying to swat it away as the underwear swung from the older woman's fingertips. The bra looked intimidating – the strange pads under the cup just didn't _look_ right. If anything, it looked too sensual – and that was not her style. Blair, cheerful as ever, merely clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

"But Maka, you don't understand," she whined, batting large orange eyes at the meister as she carefully laced another finger into the straps of the clothing. Holding it up, she pressed the bra against the smaller girl, lining up the cups. Maka positively hissed and shimmied the stringy lingerie away, grimacing as it fell back into the witch-cat's hands.

"Blair, _you_ don't understand," the meister started, however her face softened when she saw the older woman's dejected pout. She sighed, blowing a breath between clenched teeth to calm herself. With a much more bracing and gentle tone, she continued, "I wear _sports bras_. I can't go around fighting kishin even if…" she swallowed, looking down momentarily, "my breasts look good."

Instead of pacifying and satisfying the woman, Blair instead perked up and her voice was somehow even _more _insistent. "But it _does _give support!" At Maka's reluctant stare, the witch-cat glared, her arms squeezing together (Maka looked away pointedly) and her hands thrusting the bra back to the meister. "Won't you even give me a chance?! Just _try. It._"

The blonde hesitated before she took the bra quietly. "Fine, but if I put this on, will you return it right away if I don't like it?"

The witch-cat's eyes widened in excitement, her head bobbing up and down so fast her purple locks could barely keep up with the motion. Maka sighed again, unable to refuse the enthusiastic woman as she disappeared behind her door.

Sighing, she reluctantly pulled off her shirt and sports bra, slipping on the new clothing in its place. Glancing down self-consciously, she was surprised to see actual _mounds_ from her normally flat chest. It almost didn't seem real. She was just about to poke her chest when she heard a rapping on the door. "Maka? Open the door honey, let me see!" She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she flustered around, still half in awe of her own chest before she reached over and pulled the door open. Blair was waiting expectantly at the door frame, her eyes widening even further.

"Maka-nyah, you look _amazing_," she gushed. Maka felt even more heat in her cheeks as the woman bent forward, inspecting the fit. "And it doesn't look so snug, Maka, maybe you're actually an A-cup-"

And it was at that perfect moment that her white-haired roommate decided to burst through their apartment door, treated to a perfect view of his topless meister and their housemate's undies.

Silence.

"_SOUL_-" Maka screamed in horror before Blair slammed the door to her room for her, and even as she seethed she could hear her partner's sputtering apologies as Blair began to furiously scold him for her. Cheeks flaming and heat prickling uncomfortably at her spine, she quickly unclasped her bra and replaced the underwear with her normal selections and pulling her shirt back on over her head.

She could vaguely hear Blair mouthing off Soul, their conversation muffled but she could tell it had something to do with Soul protesting against the push up bra. When she cracked open the door, their voices were suddenly clearer and she could make out the specifics to their words.

"- and it looked so unnatural-"

"-tell me if _these_ feel unnatural-"

"-but I mean hers aren't all _perky_ like yours-"

"Soul-kun, you have _no _idea about a woman's secrets! Without a push up bra our boobs will be all saggy-"

"Good, then Maka's boobs will never have that chance, because she doesn't even have much to-"

She chose to kick open the door then. She tried to take the scene in objectively: Soul's face beet red, flailing helplessly against Blair, who had pinned him down, holding one of his hands against her bosoms.

Silence.

"_SOUL-_" she screeched, whipping the bra so hard at her partner that, upon contact, the weapon's head snapped back, the clothing sliding macabrely off his face. Before he had a chance to react, she had slammed a book _hard_ against his skull. The meister snatched the bra off her partner's chest and shoved them back into Blair's outstretched hands. The witch-cat jumped back, trying to skirt around the pair as Maka began to furiously shake the poor scythe, screaming about what he had meant by those comments as Soul shook back and forth like a ragdoll, a small line of drool dribbling out of his mouth.

_I'll put this back in her room for her,_ Blair thought cheerfully, dodging around the couch and humming on her way back to the girl's room.


	2. Chapter 2

_Warning: Angst._

_There was an angst meme floating around tumblr, so this is what came of it._

.::[::]::.

[SoMa - "it's all YOUR fault!"]

It wasn't working.

It just wasn't.

And she was tired, _damn_ tired. It was a new level of exhaustion; a combination of physical strain and mental fatigue – and that was only from the training. Truth was, she was ready to call it quits; to drop him now and walk away. But every time she tried – every time she felt the cogs catch and stutter, spitting sparks, did she know that it just wasn't going to cut it anymore.

And when she put down her scythe – her childhood friend, her crutch, her _everything_, she finally collapsed onto her knees and tried not to sob.

She knew it.

And in a flash he was by her side, Soul, perhaps once the love of her life, putting an arm around her. She could tell by his face that he was frustrated – perhaps even furious with her. He had every right to be.

People change. Hell, she was the one who _grew up_ with it. She watched her parents grow apart, arguing, beginning to split. She had seen it with Soul too, from that one moment all those years ago to the occasional girlfriend he had.

And they had been through so much, _so much_, together, as a pair, as partners. So why? Why was the well-oiled machine breaking down?

He caught a tear that had rolled down her cheek.

"Maybe we have to go see Stein again?" he suggested quietly. He was still there, he was still beside her, rubbing her arms soothingly as she couldn't stop the tears from falling.

She shook her head, "No," she choked through her sobs, "I don't want Stein to see."

His hands stopped rubbing as he fell silent. She winced, expecting the argument to begin. It has happened before; times when they weren't in the right gear. But their yelling matches would normally kick their resonance back into gear, coming back stronger than before.

But she knew it.

This time, it was real.

She wanted him to remind her; remind her when they would resonate without even trying. When he was goofing off, she'd feel giddy herself. When she was sad, he'd come into her room with a cup of cocoa without even asking. She wanted him to call her out, to blame her, because it wasn't him who's changed, it was _her_. The pressure of being an honour student, having a Deathscythe partner, and she had promised over and over that she wouldn't change.

She wanted him to yell at her, to scream that it was _her _fault and that _she_ was the one stopping them. She wanted him to call her out, to blame _her_ for ruining their partnership because she couldn't hold onto who she was nor accept who she was _becoming_.

But instead, he stayed with her in silence. He stroked her head and whispered that _it was okay_. They'd fix this. They always have.

Her wails of anger, frustration, and despair wrecked through her body, leaving her shaking, tears splashing on the ground as her hands curled around his. She could hardly breathe – air coming in large gasps that dissolved into hiccups as she sniffled.

But the feeling wouldn't go away.

Even as they were close, inches apart, clothing being their only barrier, it was hollow. There was no warm pulse, no small soul she could hold onto and cradle into her arms. It was there, yes, but they were no longer tuned. Their clogs had been slowing.

And now, they stopped.

….

_Where did we go wrong? _


	3. Chapter 3

_Happy fourth of July! I'm moving today and I won't have internet until the night, even then I'm not sure what the situation is going to be. So I'm releasing this little drabble in celebration (I'm Canadian, by the way) and as something to tide you all over with!_

_And don't worry, unlike last time this is fluff - pure slightly nsfw fluff. _

_Enjoy!_

.::[::]::.

["You are adorable." SoMa! :D (bonus points if flustered and blushing Soul hehehe)]

There they lay in a sweaty mess, tired yet ridiculously content. Her mind was still racing with what had happened. She could still remember him, hovering over her, the way his eyes captured hers and locked them in place. How he feathered kisses along her collar, her neck, her ears, as he pushed in and began to thrust. The way sweat framed his face when she reached to stroke his cheek, reached to trace the hints of scarring down his chest, before she pulled him in a hug.

He had truly treated her like a princess, as he promised. No, he had been even better: she felt like a _goddess_.

He moaned in protest as she shifted around in her bed. "Relax, I'm not going, I just want some blankets," Maka said bracingly. He made a noise into his pillow but didn't protest as she sat up, dragging the light blue covers over her legs and onto her torso. As she reclined back down, the white-haired mass of hair shifted lightly as he extended an arm.

She opted for his chest, instead.

Maka snuggled in, his skin warm and smooth against her cheeks. She could hear his heart, thumping unsteadily in her ears, and she sighed in contentment. She was startled as he heard him hum lightly, the sounds of his voice reverberating in him both surprising yet at the same time, soothing. She felt his arm wrap around her torso, fingers dancing lightly against the curve of her hip.

They laid there in silence for a few moments, both basking in the joy of each other's company. The question that had been on her mind (probably since they started dating) flashed in her mind. Unable to contain it any longer, she turned her head slowly, resting her opposite cheek on his chest.

"Hey Soul?" Her partner's head tilted down, his fingers paused from their little piano recital as he caught her eye.

"Yeah?" The vibrations of his chest made her smile.

"What do you like about me?"

God, even she knew she hated that question, and as she said it she immediately regretted it. This was kind of the last thing she wanted to say, but she wanted to hear it. The conflicting thoughts battled in her head and it probably extended to her eyes because his red orbs softened. "Oh, I mean, if you don't-"

"Nah, I'll tell you," he said soothingly as his hands moved from her side to her hair, stroking the blonde locks almost in a worshipping manner. "You, you are everything to me." He looked away then, lost in thought, as words spilled from his mouth. "You're always there to protect me, since day one. You can be crazy, you can beat the crap out of everyone – what's hotter than a girl who can do that? But you can be so kind and so nice." Her eyes widened because she honestly didn't expect that kind of an answer – maybe a tease, or a subtle deflection as to not ruin the moment. He continued anyways, "You are so compassionate when you need to be, and you put me before you sometimes. _Me._ You make me feel alive; you make me feel _wanted. _And I just love.." he paused then as he seemed to regain consciousness as to what he was saying. "Love.."

Before she could blink his hands hand flown to her face, covering her eyes. She shot back in alarm, but her vision was still blocked. "Wha- Soul, hey, put your hand down!" She whined as she tried to lean in but his grip persisted.

"Ah, don't look, I'm really uncool right now," he complained, his voice sounding strange when she wasn't also reading his facial expressions too. She flailed against his grip before she eventually grabbed his hands and pried them off her face.

He was beet red.

His other palm had covered his mouth, he looked like he was almost _sulking_ as he looked away from her. "Stop staring," he barked, his eyes wild with alarm when he realized she could see him.

She giggled.

"You're are adorable," she cooed.

She barely managed to catch the pillow he had thrown at her face.


	4. Chapter 4

_This is longer than what I have been putting up so far - 2 k words - but I didn't think it could be a standalone piece._

_Some body image stuff and very lightly nsfw - not quite smut but implied. Just an initial warning. _

.::[::]::.

[SoMa prompt - Birthmark. Maka has hidden her birthmark from Soul through their whole relationship, a splotch extending from her upper inner thigh to just under her belly button, and has always insisted on having sex with the lights off. He accidentally walks in on her changing and sees the mark and proves that she had nothing to be worried about. Go.]

She screams.

Part of her knows she's being irrational, but years and _years_ of being teased about her stupid birthmark was enough to traumatize even her. And as she begins to pick up things to throw at him – her pillow, her books, even the clothes she had laid out and was about to wear – she can barely make out his sputtering apologies as he tries to close the door in peace.

When he finally does, Maka can barely catch her breath, her heart beating erratically in her chest, and she sighs, falling back onto her bed. She doesn't even bother looking down at her own overly exposed body, because just the sight makes her lip curl and bile to rise at her throat. She hates it, she _hates_ the ugly discoloured line crawling up her stomach. She keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling, the frantic beats of her heart loud in her ears and painful in her chest, as she sucks in another breath and tries to calm herself.

Her fingers dance the same nervous dance against her abdomen, hesitantly skimming across her normally milky and smooth skin, before it reaches where it becomes suddenly rougher, almost as if scar tissue. She winces before curiously tracing the flesh up towards her belly button. Maka knows she's being a bit of a hypocrite because, unlike his, hers was just a birthmark. But then the feisty, angry, always-has-to-be-right part of her chides her and says that it is _exactly _why she's self conscious – because she has the childhood trauma.

Knocking on the door breaks her out of her thoughts and she squeals, shoving the rest of her clothes on the floor (most of them were already there from her earlier flailing). She considers running to the light switch to flip them off, but then she remembers its midday so it would hardly make a difference. Instead she whips off her bed sheets and dives under the covers, careful to pull them up to her chest.

It is only when she lets out a hassled groan, which came out more like a defensive kitten, did she hear a bit of a chuckle before the door cracked open. "Are you going to throw something at me again," Soul's voice wafts through the door.

"Not funny," she calls, though she can't help a small giggle from escaping her lips.

He comes in first, a hand on his hair as he smiles sheepishly. "I, uh, just wanted to know if you wanted to grab food," he says, and as he takes a step towards her she reflexively hisses and he lifts his foot, springing into a defensive position.

"Then why didn't you just shout," she mutters, squirming a little in her bed. It's not that she's uncomfortable, though she worries that, if she moves too fast, her blanket will slide off.

His eyebrow raises as if he picks up on the thought, but he also laughs. "Maka, we've been together for – what – a year now? Has our relationship really not progressed to the stage where I can ask you, face to face, to go out for lunch with me?"

She feels her cheeks turn red. "It's exactly _because _our relationship has progressed that you don't _need _to see me to ask me out," she stammers back, and though he blinks at her response she fiercely defends the statement in her head. _Ugh_, does he not get it? She swallows thickly. He takes another step and she reflexively pulls more red blankets up to her chest.

He narrows his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she responds, her voice too high in her head and judging by his facial expression, he notes it too. His face colours with concern as he takes another slow step and, by now, Maka can tell she's running out of duvet as the blanket fights back when she tries to pool more around her chest. He sits down on the foot of her bed and she stiffens.

He leans in, hand outstretched, but she flinches away, leaning back, until her head lightly hits the wall behind her. "Soul, stop it, what are you-"

His hand closes around her forehead. "You don't have a fever."

She can tell her cheeks are warm but she honestly can't feel more beyond her fluttering heart, for once not out of love but more out of fear. She wants to do nothing more than to sweep her duvets off her bed and shimmy out of there in a new, red dress. But he doesn't show any signs of moving until she tells him what's wrong, and she briefly contemplates lying to him but he _knows _her.

"It's something I'd rather not talk about."

His eyes narrow. When she looks she can feel her heart sink as she detects a hint of hurt, even betrayal, in his eyes, but he nods anyway and instead attempts to look patient. She kind of wishes she could tell him, but just as she tries to form the words, they stick to her tongue like glue and soon she feels as if she's gagging on them, choking on the irregular shapes and tastes of her confession.

She instead sighs and sinks her jaw, mouth, and nose into the soft red sheets.

They sit in a silence that, for the first time since their awkward childhood stages, feels heavy and almost apprehensive.

He's doing that passive thing again, she realizes with a jolt, when he waits for her to continue because he's at a loss of what to say. He had been that way the first time she had asked him to turn off the lights. He had hesitated mid-kiss, and eventually Maka had to get up and turn them off herself.

_It's his silent way of asking why_, she thinks, not so much realizes because perhaps she had always known.

She picks at her nails through the red sheets, her toes nervously squirming together as she tries again to conjure the words. Every syllable drags on her throat until she finally drags her eyes up to meet his.

He blinks slowly, she gazes back.

His hand slowly, carefully, raises towards the blankets. She twitches but she inhales, trying to relax. The blankets begin to peel away, and though all of this he _had_ seen before, the he exposes the louder her heart beats in her chest, picking up in tempo, as the blankets fall away from her chest.

He pauses and looks at her again.

She gently takes one hand and puts it on his and he lets go immediately. As he pulls back her own fingers replace his, doing the deed on her own.

Maka sucks in a breath and closes her eyes.

She sheds the rest of them off, some of the weight going with it. But as much as she doesn't feel heavy, instead she feels even jitterier. Though her eyes are already shit she squeezes them, awaiting what he's going to say, anticipating his reaction.

"Is this what you were hiding from me?"

"Yes?" Maka responds meekly, her head unable to really distinguish what tone Soul is using because her heart is pounding again, louder and flightier than before. She feels heat, contact, and she _knows _what he's about to do seconds before he does, but she doesn't flinch away when he slowly, deliberately, places a finger on the tip of her birthmark.

He traces it slowly, working down her abdomen and towards her legs. The very movement causes sparks to run down her spine, electricity spreading like wildfire as she can tell that the flesh is slightly rougher than the rest of her skin. His finger gently lifts from the base of the mark – right along the middle of her upper thigh – with such delicacy that she nearly shivers under his touch. She cracks open an eye and sees that he is almost glowing.

She was a bit selfish, Maka realizes, shutting this part away from him even though they had sworn to each other long before they were even intimate to one another.

"Is this why you keep turning off the lights?" His tone is light, curious, not at all disgusted or reproachful like her mind – her silly, overthinking mind – had imagined it to be. But of course, this was _Soul_, Soul who had sworn his life in service to hers, Soul who had her back since day one. Soul who let _her_ run a finger along _his_ scars, especially at the most intimate of moments.

He seems to note her inner thoughts as he smiles bracingly and pats her on the head (she nearly flinched away from that, too.) "I know what it's like to be afraid of being judged with something you're born with," he soothes, and then he grins toothily and she can't help but to giggle. She lifts a hand slowly. He keeps his goofy grin on his face as she lightly traces his teeth, letting one digit press into the sharpness of his teeth. "Careful Maka, or I'll bite ya," he teases, before _actually _going in for a bite as she moves her finger away and instead shoves it against the inner part of his mouth.

His complaints go deaf on her ears as Maka takes a deep breath and looks down. Although interrupted by her panties, the darker brown line that she had grown to hate somehow didn't see as dark, as _stark_, as she made it out to be. In fact, it even looked a little smaller than she remembered – perhaps it was going away as she grew older – but Death knows she never lingers on her own birthmark for longer than she has to.

She doesn't realize he had fallen silent again, and when she looks up she sees him looking at it too. "Y'know, it's kind of cool."

"Only you would think that, Soul."

"Good," he says, before he suddenly rolls on top of her. She huffs and grumbles _get off_ but he only allows distributes more weight on her, muffling her protest and instead only exhaling with a huff. She tries to look back down but the way his elbow is prevents her head from moving. "Seriously you lump, get _off_!"

He turns his head up to her and he smirks, playfulness now in his eyes. He repositions himself quickly, smoothly, and soon he's gently pinning her down as he lowers his mouth onto hers. His lips are soft, sweet, and soon she wonders why she even tried to hide it from him as her tongue traces his teeth, following the curve of his smile.

They break apart, both panting, and she is suddenly aware that she is mostly unclothed. He picks up on that because in one smooth motion, his shirt joins the pile of clothes on the floor. They look at each other for a moment, though Maka can't help but to slide her eyes to his own scar. As she ogles and traces the disfigured flesh with her mind, words come to her mouth but she swallows them down.

He says them anyway.

"We match."

She groans.

He smirks again as he lowers her head and she puckers in anticipation, but he pulls back last second. Maka can feel a pout on her lips as she opens her eyes, but Soul's shifting his weight to get off her. Disappointment prickles at her spine as she tries to sit up, but he turns to her before he completely stands up. "Lights?" he asks.

She takes a deep breath. "Leave them on."

And so he does.


	5. Chapter 5

_Fluff eater despite what it might come across as!_

.::[::]::.

["I'll protect you with my life." you know what pairing :D]

It was different seeing her like that: lying on a bed, bandaged and bruised, her breathing light and quiet. He held her hand, thumb stroking rhythmically against the soft surface of her palm. Her skin was smooth, like a pillow, and if he didn't know she could wield a scythe like none other, he would not have pegged her to be one who works with her hands.

She looked smaller like this – her posture not poised for battle nor her eyes dancing with livid fire. Younger, youthful, but he wondered if it was brought on by her pigtails. The covers on her made her seem frailer; as if she doesn't make a living by fighting Kishin, facing death every day.

He wanted to touch her; to stroke her cheek, to rub the blonde locks between his fingers, to press his lips on hers, to hold her and call her _his_. But as she dozed, her fingers squeezing his gently as she twitched in her sleep, he can't help but the smallest of frowns to slide on his face.

No. He would wait until she was ready.

His name suddenly fell out of her lips: clumsy, slurred, sloppy, even. When his head shot up in surprise he noted that her head flopped to the other side before a snore escaped her. He smirked.

While she was tiny, fragile, _breakable_. But when she was awake, holy _Death_ was she unstoppable. When fire danced in her eyes he can swear his soul did too, when she wore her determined look, he felt himself ready for anything – a buzz of adrenaline filling his heart. When she would command him to attack, he did so without batting an eye, himself a slave to her commands.

When she fell back on her butt, her breathing labored, he rushed to her side immediately. And though she was clutching her rib, blood oozing from a cut on her cheek, she gave him the widest smile, stretching from ear to ear. He had sighed and patted her head, she had held out the bright red kishin egg, but then went ahead and passed out in his arms.

So here he was.

He knew she was going to be fine – she always would – and as she clutched his hand again, he felt his face soften into a smile. He squeezed back and feathered his lips against her knuckles. "I'll protect you with my life, Maka," he whispered, each word ghosting across her soft skin as he hoped it would reach her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

_trying some new formatting. _

_This is a bit of a parody of "summer lovin'". _

_Did not manage to fit the bonus line in - I apologize in advance - but hopefully you'll find that the ficlet doesn't need it at all. _

..::[::]::.._  
_

[Talking to the girls/guys about the other: "She' ticklish." "He' cuddly." (Bonus: "oh my god Maka everyone knows that")]

He pushed a hand through his hair.

She played with the lapel on her sleeve.

"Why?" they both asked. Her eyes danced with fire. His seemed rather disinterested.

"Well, of course we want to know," said Liz, as she put one arm on Patti to stop the younger Thompson from bouncing too much on the mattress. "I mean, you're _finally_ dating, after what, five years?" She looked over to Tusbaki, who only nodded sagely back. She sighed.

"THE MIGHTY BLACKSTAR NEEDS TO KNOW EVERYTHING!" the blue-haired wannabe assassin screeched back, causing Killik to wince and Kid to blink nonchalantly in response. Blackstar's chest puffed up as he inhaled once more. "PLUS, YOU GOTTA TELL ME SOUL, I SWEAR-"

Soul sighed. "It's not that big a deal, okay?" he deadpanned, trying to keep his eyes down.

"- and I still don't see why I have to tell you," Maka said into her pillow, if only to hide the red that had begun to creep on her cheeks.

But Liz snatched her shield right out of her hands and tossed it to Patti, who whipped it against the room. It landed onto the ground with a not-so-innocent _flop_. Maka squeaked and tried to use the covers next, but at Liz's prompt bark of _Tsubaki!, _the sheets were thrown straight off her bed with unusual vigor. The blonde groaned. "Albarn, you are _not _getting away from this on," Liz said, her voice sharp and almost cutting.

"'Sides, we _know_ Maka, but you _know_ her. Help a brother out," Killik pried, his voice more accusing than curious as he pushed the controller away from him. BlackStar had already stopped playing anyway, having instead balanced himself precariously on the couch with one foot on the cushion and one on the back.

She pulled her legs up and curled her arms around them. "Well,"

Soul groaned and shoved the controller to Kid (who meticulously placed it perfectly opposite of Killik's discarded one) as he pushed his fingers into his temples. "She is-"

"He is-"

"What you'd expect, really," he answered testily.

The silence was dramatically anticlimactic.

"That's all you're gonna tell us?!" Liz yelled, Tsubaki flinching as Patti broke out into hysterics. Maka only pulled her legs in tighter.

"SERIOUSLY SOUL, YOU CAN'T JUST BUILD IT UP LIKE THAT!" Blackstar screeched, the deathscythe plunging his fingers into his ears to block out the ridiculous soundwave that was only amplified due to his uncomfortably close proximity.

"Well, what else? He's still Soul-"

"She's still Maka-"

"Just –"

"But-"

He trailed off. What would be appropriate to tell them? That she would cook him dinner when he got home, especially after late nights working with Kid? That she liked the music that he wrote her, that they would spend lazy days in with him on his guitar as she would (tried to) sing and hum along? That they still snuggled on the couch, her small frame fitting under his arms as her ears and head fit right into the cavity of his chest?

That they would have those nights where they couldn't have enough of each other – their hands clawing for more as they grasped, touched, explored each other? That he didn't mind being sub and her dom, though they had no problem switching at all? That she sweats as she arches– that he bites his lips as he thrusts – that her eyes turn into a hazy green when turned on – that his eyes glowed with passion – that their voices would mingle into one as they moaned, panted, and whispered each other's names?

No.

Definitely not.

And prying eyes stared back at them, awaiting the response.

She swallowed.

He rolled his eyes.

"She's pretty much –"

"He's, uh –"

" - Ticklish. _Really_, ticklish," he tried to stifle a grin because BlackStar's mouth flew open and Killik blinked back. He couldn't help it when a chuckle escaped his lips, especially when he pictured _her_, lying in his bed, and even merely touching her would cause her to erupt into infectious giggles. He could pounce on her when she was cooking, allowing his hands to roam, and her body would fidget and twitch as she'd indignantly call his name and swat at him with whatever she was holding. "I swear, you can touch her and she'll _lose it_."

"- Cuddly," she trailed off. She wouldn't have expected it at first – but as soon as they'd see each other at home the first thing he would do is envelop her into a bear hug, nuzzling his face into the curve of her neck. As they laid together the first thing he'd do is tuck his arm under her head before coaxing her closer, his nose tracing her ears. Even on the couch, he'd wrap his arm around her and, usually at some dumb anticlimactic moment, he'd grab her and push her into his chest. "I swear, he'll jump on me even when I'm doing something that requires both hands."

Silence.

"-WHAT - ," their voices rang, the males from their shared apartment, the girls from the Gallows Manor.

"- Soul, _man, TELL US MORE-_" Blackstar started, as Killik sprang up and joined him. "Like give us the deets – tell us about your _hot sex-" _the ninja squeaked, knocking over the couch as he scrambled to get away from the death scythe as he glared daggers and lunged after him.

"- But what about _him in bed_," Liz begged, drowning out Patti's mad cackles as Maka glowed an even brighter red, hand grasping at the bed sheets now that she had no cover, "-what about your _first time_ –"

"- YOU GOTTA TELL YOUR BROS –" BlackStar cackled as he leapt onto the counter next, dancing out of the way as Soul seethed and jabbed at his foot.

"- IT'LL JUST BE BETWEEN US GIRLS - ," Liz wailed louder as Tsubaki coaxed rubbed the older Thompson's shoulder reassuringly (and calmingly).

"Oh –"

"- _hell –"_

"- No."


	7. Chapter 7

[Peanut Butter.]

Just because he hadn't had it in forever, doesn't mean he shouldn't, right?

Because when Maka was spreading the richly aromatic, thick and smooth, lightly brown butter on a piece of toast, his mouth had started watering.

She had turned and smirked as he tried to suck back a dribble of drool (not quite succeeding but the effort was noted). "What's _your_ deal?" she had asked as she dipped her knife back into the jar. She twisted once before pulling it back out, long strands of the substance oozing off the edge appealingly.

He swallowed thickly. "I haven't had peanut butter in forever."

Maka's eyebrow raised. "That's surprising," she had said lightly as she spread the viscous dollop onto the bread. His eyes followed the knife, as if mesmerized, like a hypnotized snake as she smoothly soothed the knife from one edge to another with silky ease.

His mind started to wonder if it would be just as smooth over her-

He swallowed that idea back quickly.

She lifted the knife, remnants piking the otherwise perfectly-spread peanut butter as she broke the contact. Their eyes caught for a moment. Her mouth twisted into another smirk as she ran a finger over the edge of the blade, digit trapping the ingredient as it ran its way up.

She didn't even blink as she slowly slid the digit into her mouth, her lips puckering as she slowly sucked, the creases of her skin deepening.

He didn't know what he was more envious of, her or _her finger_.

She took said finger out of her mouth with the lightest of _pop_s, before she stuck the knife back into the jar, the rather violent motion snapping Soul out of his brief reverie. "So, when _was _the last time you had peanut butter?"

He tried to drag his eyes off his _ridiculously hot _meister and to the jar of offending substance but it was getting rather hard. "Iunno, around four?" he responded stiffly. Truly the one run in he had with peanut butter was when his mom had bought some because they were out of _hazelnut _butter (who knew such a thing existed?) and when he had tried it, _oh man_, was it a match made in heaven.

Of course, he hadn't had any since then – because it wasn't entirely a food that _aristocrats _would eat. It wasn't found in any of the _expensive_ chocolates (and he was forbidden from eating something like _Reeses_, for goodness sake) and the few times Wes might've had any he had hogged it all, instead lightly teasing the younger Evans that he would have to grow up before he could have any.

He was – what – sixteen now, right?

He could have some now, right?

But even when his meister offered to prepare some for him, after _that _display he was pretty sure he wanted to eat _something else. _So he refused and instead, contemplated getting some milk or something – anything to cool him off as the blonde shrugged and sashayed over to where he was sitting, toast balancing precariously on her fingertips (one in particular was shiny, but he tried hard not to think about that).

She threw herself down and lifted the snack – the aromas of toast and the sweet, sweet peanut butter enticing his nose. He really _was_ drooling now, he noted, as his meister carefully sandwiched the bread and opened her jaws, her perky lips parting and her emerald eyes sparkling in anticipation.

She bit down. He almost winced.

She chewed slowly, possibly even derisively, as she groaned in satisfaction. Soul couldn't help but to stare as her cheeks bulged, before she twisted her head in an almost exaggerated manner and swallowed, almost sounding somewhat erotic as she sighed in pleasure. "Death this is so good," she breathed, her voice almost hoarse and thick with peanut butter. Soul, completely mesmerized (and, unabashedly, a little turned on), nodded sagely along. Maka perked up and turned to him, small dimples forming in her cheeks (he really found them cute) as she held out the piece of toast to him.

"Want a bite?"

He could have burst into tears, right there, right then.

So he leaned in and took a generous bite, the blonde squeaking in indignation as half of her remaining snack disappeared into his jaws. _Oh god, _he thought, as _tastes_ and the _textures_ played with his tongue, creating a symphony of sensations that crept down his spine. It was so good. _So good_. Almost as good as eating Souls, except Souls didn't leave this warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach as he swallowed.

Her pout was cute, he noted, and he hardly noticed her smacking his arm as she complained about having to make more and that she _offered_ but he had to be such an _ass_ and eat hers anyways. _Yeah yeah, _he thought as he marveled at the smoothness of the butter, a texture he didn't realize he missed.

It was getting all a bit much now so he turned and silenced the protesting femme by pressing his lips against hers, hard. Just the contact had his lips itching for more, pleasant buzzing filling his lips as his head, throat, and heart fired with pleasurable itches as he went to deepen the kiss. Her protests died in her throat as she moaned, though she still had a bit of fight in her as she tried to assert her own dominance.

His hands caught hers, his palms and arms itching as small shivers of pleasure crept up his spine. He felt warm, hot, even, the same fuzzy feeling in his throat as he swallowed, trying to stop himself from overflowing with saliva, again.

Wait.

He was hot.

He was _really, really, hot._

Soul pulled back quickly, swallowing once more. It was _still _there, that weird fuzzy feeling, even though he had broke contact. In fact, the more he lingered on it, the more he realized that something wasn't right about it.

"Soul?" Her voice seemed far away as he noticed his arms were getting _really _itchy, "a-are you okay?" He tried to say something but words got caught in his throat as she leaned over towards him. "You – you're really red – oh God, is your _lip swellin-" _

Her eyes widened, panic dancing a frantic jig in her eyes.

"_Soul Evans, are you allergic to PEANUT BUTTER?!"_

He didn't know, he swore he didn't know, but instead he felt that awful _awful _feeling in his throat like ants were trying to climb out of his mouth and he wasn't sure _what _sound it was, but something akin to a croak broke through his lips. The blonde jumped on her feet, the toast nearly flying on the floor, as she ran to the sink and poured him a glass of water. "I – I, you said you had it before!"

He tried to calm his breathing for he noticed the strange redness creeping up his arms, and when he lifted his shirt he could see angry red bumps crawling up his abdomen. _I have, _he tried to say, but the words only came out as a breath of air as he wheezed (he didn't miss Maka almost dropping the cup in reaction to that sound) before he managed to choke out "I _swear I hav-" _

"_DON'T TALK!"_ the blonde shrieked as she shoved the water into his hands, liquid slopping on him. "_Holy shit SOUL _YOU'RE BREAKING OUT," she screeched as she noticed his hives. Soul tried to calm her down, tried to tell her they weren't itchy, but of course her first reaction is to slap them, and he winced as fire broke from the contact and, oh God, the itching started.

So he continued to smack the hives but it just made it worse as Maka danced frantically into the bathroom. "_ARE YOU GOING TO VOM?" _her voice was high-pitched, shrill, full of panic, and Soul wasn't even sure if he _was_ going to vom or not but he shook his head, words only coming out as strangled wheezes. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction she had because she burst from the door, holding a bucket and a bottle of aspirin, and what looked like Tylenol and vitamin pills and – hell he wasn't even sure what half of them were (or where they came from) but she dumped all of her contents onto the couch. "We don't have any Benadryl because you _never fucking told me you were allergic_ but _try these-"_

"Mmmaa-ka," he wheezed.

"I heard vitamin C is really good for fighting any natural reactions so I'll go get you oranges and Benadryl and _oh god Soul if you're going to vom please do it in the bin-" _

"Mmmmaaaa-_kaaaa,"_ he winced at the feebleness of his own throat, before he started hacking. Her eyes flew to his in a panic and she began to smack at his back, as if it would do anything, but instead, to his horror, he began to dry-cough.

"DRINK YOUR WATER!" she shrieked, shoving his hand back into his chest, water slopping over his shirt once more.

"MAKA, JUST TAKE ME TO THE ER!"

She froze.

He blacked out.

* * *

_You were always allergic to peanuts little bro. What you had when you were four was almond butter._

The glowing screen seemed to be mocking him as Soul squinted past his swollen eyes. He groaned, the sound barely managing to vibrate in his chest past the swelling. In one motion, he closed his brother's text message, and whipped his phone across the hospital room.


	8. Chapter 8

[Maka dies and Soul is coping with the lost! Make me feel all the feels!]

_Routine_

His routine was stagnant.

People – friends, family, strangers – _people_ have told him that it wasn't healthy. But what the hell do they know? What do they know about loyalty, friendship, _love_?

His routine was the same.

People would see him, give him concerned looks. Reach out with their intrusive arms, asking if he was okay. He wasn't. But he didn't need their help; _get your hands away from me_, he'd think, but never say, instead just walking past them.

His routine was painful.

But it was _his, _so everyone could just shut up about it.

The cereal tasted like cardboard. The milk was always sour. The door was always closed, drawn shut, the proper hands just weren't there to open them anymore. The newspaper would be laid flat on the table, black print turning to gibberish in his tired eyes. He'd leave a note on the desk, for her, if she ever returned, just in case everything was just a stupid dream. A stupid _fucking _dream – like he knew it was, when he'd wake up, when he'd see her leaving.

He'd go to school. He'd ignore the concerned questions, deflecting them away. She just stepped out, that's all, and she'd be back. Whatever. Just leave me alone.

They did. Some of them, at least. But those who knew him best would still hover around him, loyally, though their loyalty could never chalk up to _hers. _

Damn it.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Then came the walk home. Sure, the world was bright and all, but without her, it was blinding. Without her, it was dark.

He'd go home, the lights off, the apartment untouched, the note he left would join the rest of them – in a bag, he'd kept off to the side, steadily growing larger as the days passed.

He'd go into his room, listen to music, try to lodge this _shitty fucking feeling _that would never leave him. He'd sit on his bed, staring at nothing, hearing nothing, knowing nothing. His mind would become blank. His vision would blur. And he wouldn't know how long he sat there for.

Then, when his alarm bleeped, the numbers illegible from his vision, blurred with tears once again, he'd drag himself up.

And he'd knock on her door.

"Maka?"

His voice, weary from neglect, tired from exhaustion, broken from _heartbreak, _would tremble, each and every time.

"Maka, oh _God, _Maka, come back. Maka, _Maka._ Please," and then the tears would start, right on point, as he would choke and chew on her name, as if it would bring her essence back into his being.

"Maka, you, you are _so so fucking stupid_, Maka, why would you do this? _How could you do this?!_" His shoulders would be shaking and one fist would slam against the door, echoing in the silence of their apartment, rattling the abandoned dishes and the loose lights. ".. how could you do this.. to me?" and he would sob, sob so hard he would hiccup, fat tears rolling down his face and splashing, hot, against cold skin.

He'd sit there, back against the closed door, time slipping through his fingers – delicate threads that he could never hold onto.

Then the door would open.

And he'd hallucinate it's her; it's her with a cheery smile, or a disapproving glare – hell, she'd whack him and laugh at how he was worrying, then antagonize him into making dinner, or taking a shower because _fuck _he reeked. But then he'd tease her back and pull on a blonde pigtail, to which she'd puff her cheeks and bat his hand away, calling him a meanie before threatening once again for him to get his shit together.

But it was a hallucination.

It was _always_ a hallucination.

"Soul, sweetie, we can go visit her, you know," Blair would soothe, but he'd flinch away. He wouldn't be able to see the usual crowd that dropped by every day without fail. He wouldn't acknowledge everyone, Liz, Patti, Tsubaki, hell, even Blackstar, who had been humbled into silence as he'd stare.

No.

No.

_No. _

He'd roll away and wipe the tears.

He'd ignore their concerned looks.

He'd ignore their intrusive hands.

He'd ignore all of it.

And he'd curl into a ball, cry himself to sleep, dream of _her_, with him, in the fleeting moments before her life is torn away from him.

Before the threads of her life slip through his fingers.

It was pitiful. It was stupid. It was something she'd scoff at, maybe even laugh at, before she'd force him out of it.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't going to pull him out.

So, it was his routine.

His stupid, pitiful, pathetic, dumb, useless routine.

But it was _his_ routine.

So everyone can just _fucking _shut up about it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey everyone, _

_Thank you all so far for your reviews and your faves/follows, even if you've just read these through and not done anything beyond that. _

_I hope you've liked my portrayal of Soul and Maka to this point. _

_Some business first: _

_I have a bunch of small AUs that I don't think warrant being a fic on their own. What are your thoughts on me making a separate "AU" collection for the various other situations SoMa find themselves in? This ranges from different universes to just scenarios outside of the "household" title. _

_Next, and more importantly, _

_this prompt was taken and made into a preview of my Resbang. Resbang, if you didn't know, is where a whole bunch of Soul Eater (mainly SoMa though TsuStar is there too) writers and artists band together and write an epic fic, accompanied by a piece of art. All of our works are being released sometime in December. _

_Here is a small preview of how my own fic is going to be, all in tone, characterization, and plot. _

_Hopefully this wets your appetites for December!_

_Thanks lovelies, I won't divert your attention any longer._

_-Muse _

[Just for tonight, I want you to stay.]

It became a reoccurring thing, really. A stupid pattern they fell into that, initially, she told herself she didn't want. Being this close to him – it was dangerous. It made her soul flutter but her heart pound, painfully, as even when he brushed against her she felt herself react. Even if she desperately didn't want to, she would each and every time.

And somewhere amidst the coffee and the lunch breaks and the times they ran into each other on campus, walking each other home got added into the mix, too.

It wasn't the only thing.

Overtime, so did letting him in. Studying together. Making dinner. And then after-dinner drinks. More studying.

Being so close that she swore she could feel electricity leap from his fingers, could feel ice crawl down her spine when their eyes met. But they would no longer look away in embarrassment, instead, he'd hold her gaze, and she could never look away.

And then the sun would set and, though none of them wanted to acknowledge it, he'd stand up, pack his bags silently, and see himself out.

She never had the heart to say goodbye.

She wondered if she ever would, too.

They had boxes of Chinese takeout stacked haphazardly across her dining room table, but after a quick banter followed by a very grown-up and mature round of rock paper scissors, Maka kicked up her feet as the taller, tanner male scooped up the cartons with a bit of a grumble.

"And I'd like Somersby, thanks, "she called after him. And though she could hear his retreating complaints, he had brought one can of the cider. Before she could even protest, he poured half of it into his own cup, his red eyes challenging her as he slid the can over to her. She stuck out her tongue. He merely chuckled.

And her heart did that half-jump once more.

But soon it wasn't all giggles. They dove into their books, pouring over pages, the occasional half-question-mostly-small-talk a method of keeping each other alive over the black print. As usual, nine pm, she would scoot her chair back and trudge to her coffee machine. She didn't have to ask how he took it – black with one sugar. Cream and sugar for her. He somehow found that funny, she just thought he was being a prick.

She set the mug down and he gave her a half grumble of thanks. Her eyes followed his, though the incomprehensible patterns on the page made no sense to her at all. She could feel his eyes on her, now, as she purposefully poured longer over the nonsensical writing on his page, before she caught his eye and gave him a half smile, despite the way her lip quivered without her intention. She disguised it with a sip of coffee. His stare told her that he wasn't fooled.

Truthfully, she should've probably kicked him out by now. Or at the very least, put an end to this kind of thing – because she knew that she absorbed nothing on these nights. Instead, she just enjoyed his presence; the little grumbles as he stressed over theory, the way he'd laugh as she had to recite formulas under her breath.

It made him feel closer, even though now, they were worlds apart.

He wasn't really part of her life – not the way she wanted him to be. Not the way he could've been.

She expected he knew that, too.

But the pregnant silence only lasted so long. At the same time every night, this one not an exception, he scooted his chair back and reached for his book.

She didn't know why.

But she didn't try to stop herself as her hand flew out and caught his.

He faltered.

Their eyes caught once more, and she felt all the words she wanted to say suddenly disappear in her throat.

She lowered her gaze swiftly – there was only so much of that piercing red gaze that she could take – even now, eight years later.

He waited patiently.

"Do you have to go?"

It was her stupid, childish, twelve year old Maka talking – the one stuck in the past, the one who couldn't forget the lingering looks, the silly jokes, the way their fingers would brush together side by side when he chose to sit next to her.

But this was twenty year old Soul – the one who had moved on, the one who had new friends, a new life, but would still gaze at her when he chose to sit across from her, instead.

But twenty year old Soul had the same boyish grin as he smoothly dropped his hand, his fingers curling into hers for the briefest of seconds.

"As long as I get your bed," he said teasingly as he let gently let go.

Twenty year old Maka blinked, unable to stop the blush that had crept onto her cheeks.


End file.
